


And It All Shatters Apart

by SaxSpieler



Series: Verǫld Vǫrðr [27]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Eye Trauma, Face Trauma, Gen, Horriffic Implications, I am horrible and I'm going to go cry now, Violence, ear trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxSpieler/pseuds/SaxSpieler
Summary: Wahisietel attempts to talk things through with Azzanadra, and brings Finley along for the ride. It does not end well. Lots of calling out and yelling ensues. Also SliskFrag starts to lose his subtlety. Post-endgame.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, putting all the warnings here as well because seriously, this is one of the more graphic and horrible things I’ve written. Warnings for violence, blood, body horror, eye trauma, face trauma, all the trauma, and some horrible implications. Also, if you don’t like asshole Azzanadra…I suggest you not read.
> 
> Alternative title: BOOM BOOM WHERE’S MY SHROOM?
> 
> Alternative title #2: Azzy finally does what he wanted to do in FotG, but picks the wrong brother.
> 
> Alternative title #3: Azzy goes full Azzhole.
> 
> Alternative title #4: EverythingGoesWrong.mov

“I hate this.”

Wahisietel’s hiss brought Finley up from her cup of tea. He stood, head against the wall, his own teacup empty and hanging slack from his fingers.

“Hate what?”

_He’s been acting a little odd ever since the eclipse, hasn’t he…_

_I shouldn’t worry myself. Or him. He’s just as stressed as I am._

“Waiting. Waiting for that…Azzanadra. Waiting for him to actually call upon us.”

_See? Just as stressed._

A month had passed since Zanaris’ totality. Since Sliske’s death. Since Jas’ ultimatum.

A month, and yet, no word from Azzanadra or Zaros regarding what they planned to do next.

_Zaros must be still reeling from that insult Jas leveled at him._

_Aye, calling him a lit spliff and comparing that to a star. That would sting, wouldn’t it?_

_It stings just as much as Azzanadra’s snubbing does to Wahisietel, I’d imagine._

_Aye._

_He’s hurt - I can see that. So, so hurt…perhaps it’s best if I just leave him be for now. And maybe, I shouldn’t come back…_

“Finley?”

She jolted back to the present, tea sloshing slightly in its cup. Wahisietel was staring at her, head tilted, eyes worried.

“Aye?”

“Did you hear me?”

She hadn’t. That sort of thing had been happening a lot, lately.

“Sorry…”

“It’s no…no problem.” His eyes seemed to stare through her, through the space between her eyes and into her mind, and she could tell from the hard set of his mouth that he didn’t quite like what he saw there. “I had asked; ‘what do you think I should do?’”

She took another sip of tea, mulling the thought over.

“I think,” she began, setting her cup down. “I think you should go talk to him. Be direct. Tell him exactly what you really think about this whole fecht.”

Wahisietel laughed humorlessly, setting his own cup down.

“If I did that, I might get my face melted off my skull.” He scratched his chin for a moment before nodding his head. “But…it’s worth a try. I’ll talk to him. Right now.”

“Aye, I’m coming with.” She stood and shrugged her coat on, foregoing her armor. “I want to get to the bottom of this, same as yourself.”

“Very well - to the dig site.”

She might have been on thin ice with Azzanadra, as always, but with Wahisietel there, she was sure enough that things wouldn’t warrant weapons and platemail.

About ninety percent sure, but still.

Sure enough.

***

The grit crunched beneath Wahisietel’s - Ali’s - boots as he trudged through the dig site, Finley marching along at his elbow.

He had rehearsed it - everything he wanted to say. He would not lose composure. He would not raise his voice.

And, he would not, above all, incite violence. Not with Finley there. Not with Azzanadra so volatile as to fear his own power.

They neared the winch. Ali held up a hand, turning slightly.

“Remember, Finley,” he mumbled. “Keep calm, let me do the talking, and stay behind me.”

“Aye,” she mumbled back. “Wasn’t planning on saying much to the bastard anyway.”

“And hold off on the expletives until we sort everything out.”

“Right.”

Ali slid down the rope, landing crisply in the temple’s entryway, and waited for Finley to make her own, less agile descent.

“Go on, Ali,” she said, wincing as she slipped roughly down the rope with a good thirty feet to go. “I’ll catch up, aye?”

He nodded, heading into the temple proper and relaxing into his true form once he was sure that there was only one other occupant.

“Ah, Wahisietel.”

“Azzanadra.”

“What brings you here?” Azzanadra, all silk, spikes, and semi-divine stature, stood from his prostration at the foot of the Zarosian altar. Wahisietel strode forward to meet him in the center of the temple’s cavernous main room, and the two Mahjarrat bowed slightly to each other, forehead crystals nearly touching. “I haven’t seen you since-”

“Since the final ritual, yes. I confess that I was occupied with…many different things.” Medical emergencies, faction relations, drinking, record-keeping, more drinking, and trying not to completely break down and lose it every time Finley visited following her final confrontation with his brother. He had been very occupied. “But, I’m here now, and I’d like to speak with you regarding Zaros’ future plans with the Elder Gods.”

A brow ridge perked, and Azzanadra pursed his lips, glancing around for a moment.

“Are you here alone? These are…sensitive matters, after all.”

Wahisietel opened his mouth to answer, but a yelp and a crash-thunk from the entranceway did the talking for him.

“No, I brought-”

A string of garbled curses followed, each of them more oddly-worded than the last.

_‘Shove a Daggermouth’s left ball up yer crease, ye dead clump a’ string that calls itself a rope?’ Where does she come up with these phrases?_

“The World Guardian, I presume?”

“Yes,” Wahisietel sighed, motioning over his shoulder. “Finley - I brought her along.”

Azzanadra’s brow knit together.

“Why?” he asked, the collected air he projected falling slightly to reveal just a hint of contempt and annoyance.

Starting to regret letting Finley come with him, Wahisietel went ahead with saying what he had come to say.

“Well, like me, she’d like to know what’s going on - what you and Zaros are planning, the full extent of it. And, I believe we both have the right to know, given everything.”

He paused for a moment, continuing after Azzanadra offered no resistance.

“I’ve been heavily invested in this matter from the beginning - I am able and willing to help further your and Zaros’ - _our_ \- cause for as long as it continues to be a logical step in making sure the universe stays extant. Finley, of course, is the World Guardian - this is practically her job, now. Especially considering what happened following…” he glanced back at her as she approached, and, seeing the cautious, slightly sulfur-rimmed look she gave him in return, quickly thought of something else to say “…following the destruction of the Stone of Jas.”

“Your point?”

“I thought I just made my point.”

“Aye,” Finley added, arriving at Wahisietel’s side and brushing dust from her coat. “He made his point right clear - ‘course you can’t bloody see it, since you’re off your head and the nappy ‘round your eyes is darker than the Earl of Infernus’ waistcoat.”

_“Finley…”_

“World Guardian,” Azzanadra began, leaning over her slightly and steepling his hands, fingers twitching despite the cordial tone to his voice. “If you are insinuating that I didn’t understand what Wahisietel just said-”

“I’m not ‘insinuating’ it, Azzanadra. I’m _saying_ it.”

“Hardly. Your diction could peel the paint from the entire collection of preserved relics stored in the Varrock museum. Even after all my attempts to educate you, you still speak with all the finesse of a-”

_“Azzanadra…”_ Wahisietel placed a hand on Finley’s shoulder and pushed her back. The absence of Finley within Azzanadra’s line of sight seemed to calm him, and his posture relaxed, hands falling back to his sides.

“Yes, Wahisietel?”

“Please. We didn’t come here to fight.”

“Of course you didn’t. You came to ask me to divulge the entirety of Zaros’ plan to you and the World Guardian because you think you deserve to know.”

“If you want to put it that way, yes,” Wahisietel sighed, shrugging. “So, will you tell us?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I have been held in confidence by my lord, and I will not betray that confidence. The time may come when you two will need to know the full extent of his plans, but that time is not now.”

“But-”

Azzanadra held up a hand.

“You have said your piece, and I have said mine. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have a month’s worth of work to do in a week. I assume you can see yourselves out?” With that, he turned back to the altar and began to kneel.

Before he could, however, Wahisietel darted forward, yanked him up by a shoulder spike, and spun him around, the start of a growl forming in his throat.

“Enough of this, Azzanadra. I’ve had enough of you and Zaros pushing me aside and out of these affairs!”

The pontifex brushed his hand away, seemingly unfazed.

“I have kept you abreast of what needed to be known, Wahisietel - perhaps you place yourself on too high a pedestal.”

Wahisietel knew _that_ voice. _That_ voice, used for diplomatic negotiations in the days of the empire. _That_ voice, so clipped and proper, befitting Azzanadra’s high standing. _That_ voice, patronizing and sickeningly condescending to trained ears.

“Too high a pedestal?!?” His own voice rose to a growling din, ringing off the walls, the sound primal and rattling. “Azzanadra, how many times have you sought my counsel in the past? How many times have you told me that you valued my opinion as an equal? Too many times for me to count! Who, while you were safely tucked away in that pyramid of yours, kept Senntisten from crumbling the moment our enemies’ forces reached the gates? Who, after everything had fallen and everyone else had died, waited and worked for centuries to ensure your, and Zaros,’ return? _ME!_ I did! And now you cast me aside and say I’m not worthy of your time?!?”

“I-” A deafening snarl halted any retort Azzanadra might have _pontificated._

“You did the same thing in Guthix’s chambers, if you care to remember! I told you, more than once, that Sliske could not be trusted to do anything, much less relay to Finley why we were all there, and you just turned your nose up at me and let him start this entire mess!”

“Wh-” Another snarl, this one laced with a Freneskaedian curse that seemed to shake the very ground.

“And, it’s not just me you cast aside!” Wahisietel continued, voice now harsh and burning in his throat. “What about the desert bandits, Azzanadra?”

“What about them?”

“They worshiped you! Waited centuries for your return, and what do you do? You shun them. Oh, you called them to Senntisten for a quick renovation job, and they flocked to you like chickens to feed, but you threw them aside like discarded tools once that was done!”

“They were tools, Wahisietel. Tools for the Empty Lord’s return, and they played their part as intended.”

“And what about Char?”

_“What?”_

“What about Char, Azzanadra?”

“I… _how_ …”

“Finley told me.” Wahisietel took a reflexive step between her and Azzanadra, seeing the latter’s glare in the former’s direction. “She told me everything of what happened in Sliske’s maze.”

“Then she should have already informed you that I knew _nothing_ of Char’s imprisonment. Had I known, I would have-”

“You knew she was missing! Why didn’t you look for her? Oh, no, you were too busy fussing over dear old Zaros’ return to do that. So much so that it took Finley getting randomly lost in the woods and stumbling across a camp of firemakers to free her!”

“Then, it is inconsequential whether I knew of her state and location or not! She was still freed in the end,” Azzanadra said with all the care of someone brushing a stray bit of lint from their shoulder. “That is all that matters.”

“But she was still left to suffer for far longer than she should have!”

“Then she suffered for the glory of the Empty Lord…”

Wahisietel threw up his hands, eyes rolling.

“It’s all about Zaros with you, isn’t it? All for the ‘glory of the Empty Lord!’ ‘Zaronadra,’ the Legates and Praetorians called it. I suppose that little nickname still applies!

So, what now, Azzanadra? Are you going to let your moral boundaries be pushed, if you still have any left, and risk everything and everyone in the name of servility and obedience to your ‘lord?’ Fine then - have at it! But I warn you, when it all comes crashing down around your ears, and when you’re left as alone, broken, and without agency as the loyalists you imprisoned and abandoned, there will be no one else to blame but yourself!”

The final syllables of Wahisietel’s rebuke echoed harshly off the temple’s walls, and its three occupants stood stock still, each waiting for one of the other two to make a move.

Azzanadra was the first to do so, his face set in a disconcerting rictus.

“Know your place, _Legate,”_ he rumbled, stepping forward. “I am the Pontifex Maximus - the keeper of the Empty Lord’s word. You _will_ respect that.”

“The church is _gone,”_ Wahisietel grumbled, voice quieting back to its normal volume, despite Azzanadra’s threat. “It’s been gone for thousands of years.”

Azzanadra hissed and shook his head, fists clenching and unclenching haltingly.

“Zaros persists,” he said, finally squaring his shoulders and composing himself. Though, Wahisietel could hear his voice shake slightly, and he was reminded of how the ground would tremble preceding the approach of a charging legion. “That is enough for my station to persist.”

For a moment, Wahisietel felt a cocktail of emotions needle the back of his mind.

Concern for a mind forever torn between loyalty and logic.

Frustration at a pontifex who refused to lift the veil from before his eyes.

Sadness for a friend forcibly displaced in time.

A harsh, weary sigh escaped from his lungs, and he resisted the urge to physically knock some sense into Azzanadra’s mind.

“Please, brother. Enough of this idiocy-”

He was interrupted by Azzanadra stepping nose to forehead gem with him, teeth bared and eyes boiling.

“SILENCE!” he roared. “I AM AZZANADRA! THE PONTIFEX MAXIMUS! YOU _WILL_ RESPECT ME-”

Azzanadra’s head snapped to the side, and his two-pronged crown clattered to the stone floor of the temple, swatted off his head in one swift motion by the back of Wahisietel’s hand.

“I said: _enough.”_

A moment of silence.

Disbelief.

Then, utter furor.

Wahisietel was ready for Azzanadra’s first swipe, batting away the claws that, even though thick gloves, would have carved his skin apart.

A quick blast of green fire scattered an icy missile.

Spinning out of the way of another strike, he drilled a charged fist into Azzanadra’s side, sending the uncrowned Mahjarrat staggering back.

Azzanadra recovered, gathering magic around himself with a roar.

More ice shot through the air, catching Wahisietel’s shoulder. Ignoring the pain, the paradoxical burn, he deflected the rest of the ice, sending the spears crashing into the ceiling.

Debris rained down, rocks and dirt joining ice and flame.

Snarling and hissing, the two Mahjarrat charged.

Arms locked together.

Claws and fists batted the air, missing their marks.

Teeth gnashed at anything nearby.

Curses and insults spat back and forth.

A true Freneskaedian-style fight.

_“STOP!_ STOP IT, BOTH OF YE!”

A hand snagged Wahisietel’s sleeve, trying to tug him away from Azzanadra.

He swiped the hand away without a second thought, and his hand collided with something solid.

A human skull.

A sharp cry and a clatter of metal cut through Azzanadra’s snarls. Wahisietel pulled away and glanced over to see Finley sprawled on her back, blood streaming from her shattered nose.

A cold, slimy, disgusting feeling speared through his core - he had just attacked Finley. Drawn her blood.

Hurt her.

Hurt his _friend._

Done exactly the thing he had vowed never to do.

_Never again._

_Never…_

_Not your fault…_

_Not your fault._

_Collateral damage._

_FOCUS!_

Spitting out some esoteric, infernal curse, he steeled himself and turned back around, magic sparking around his knuckles.

He was met with the sight of Azzanadra’s own hand, preceded by a seething sphere of frigid shadow magic, rocketing toward his face.

For a moment, it was _just_ the impact.

It was _just_ the feeling of a icy hammer slamming him across his cheekbone.

It was _just_ the sensation of his bones cracking and crumbling away under the sheer force of the strike.

Then, _everything else_ caught up.

The awful, searing sensation of entropy itself snaking across his melting skin.

The shattering of two of his forehead crystals, their fragments flying off in all directions.

The muffled sounds of his own screams.

The _pain._

The pain of what felt like every atom in his face being split apart, one by one.

The temple spun sickeningly around him, and he tumbled to the stone floor, knees cracking from the impact.

Azzanadra’s roars and Finley’s shouts echoed above his head, and, for a moment, their voices were joined by a thousand others.

For a moment, he was no longer kneeling prone in the temple, but on a field of green burning away under his hands.

The sun itself seared him, only barely alleviated by the shield he had just managed to crawl under.

Ash clogged the air, threatening to choke the life from his lungs.

Burnt and crumbling hands dragged torn bodies across the ground, reaching for him, begging him for help.

Crystals shattered.

Blood spilled.

And, he didn’t know if it was his own, or that of his kin.

There was only one thing he did know.

He had to _leave._

He had to get to safety.

Still howling in agony, he quickly gathered his magic, calling every shattered bit of his face that he could find back into its proper place.

Bones clicked awkwardly back into shape. Skin reformed, patchy and uneven.

A crude job - one only halfway finished.

But, it would have to do.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he teleported, finally slumping to the ground in a wailing, shivering heap once the musty air of his home in Nardah enveloped him.

***

Azzanadra lowered his arms once Wahisietel... _that ungrateful, faithless LIAR_ …had departed, the magic that swirled around his knuckles dissipating into harmlessness.

Looking up from what was left of their scuffle, he locked eyes with the World Guardian, her face blanched, her eyes bulging, and her whole being trembling in either fear or rage - Azzanadra couldn’t quite tell.

“What,” she gasped, gesturing to the cracked stone and loose debris. “What have ye done?”

Brushing off his robes, he tamped down the urge to belittle the idiotic human that shared his airspace who obviously had witnessed everything and therefore knew exactly what he had just done, and formulated a response that even she would be able to comprehend.

“You saw it. It was self defense. I was protecting my own dignity and the dignity of Zaros.”

“BY MELTING OFF HALF OF WAHISIETEL’S FACE?!?” She was trembling with rage, then.

“Stop screaming, World Guardian. This is a temple of Zaros, and you will respect that.”

_“Ooooooooh_ no.” Her face reddened, and in the lava-lit chamber, she looked almost avernic. “Ye can’t slip yer damned hypocrisy by _me,_ ye great skimler. Ye just…ye almost _killed_ him! And ye have the minerals to try and bully me into respecting yer silk-covered arse because I’m _screaming too loud in yer precious temple?_ Is that what this ‘dignity of Zaros’ is?!? MELTING OFF HALF OF SOMEBODY’S FACE BECAUSE HE CALLED YE OUT ON YER KEECH?!?”

“I said, stop screaming…” His teeth ground together, the sound rattling up his jaw and, thankfully, drowning out some of the World Guardian’s tantrum.

“I WILL NOT STOP BLOODY SCREAMING! WAHISIETEL WAS RIGHT ABOUT YE! YER NOTHING BUT A POMPOUS, IMMORAL, CLUDGIE-HEADED FOUR-FLUSHER WHO CAN’T STAND THE ROCK IN A BATHROBE THAT HE’S PROBABLY HAVING NIGHTLY DREAMS ABOUT BEING BAD-MOUTHED EVEN FOR ONE MOMENT! SO…so…” She dug into a pouch on her belt, extracted the crystalline shard of Zaros’ body she had been gifted with, and held it up to the light. “Ye can take this piece of useless keech back and SHOVE IT UP YER CREASE WHERE IT BELONGS!”

With that, she flung it at Azzanadra’s feet. The shard tinkled as it hit the floor and rolled, coming to a rest at the center of Zaros’ symbol inlaid in the stone.

“And, here’s to hoping it ruptures something when ye do that.”

One rude hand gesture and a conjured tornado later, and Azzanadra was left alone in the temple.

He stared down at the thrown shard, flakes of pale skin and fine particles of jade green surrounding it, and fell to his knees. His hands hovered over the debris, shaking, and the silence in the temple was suddenly a smothering weight on his shoulders.

His first thought was to pick up the shard, his second to sweep the gem fragments up and try, just _try_ , to somehow fuse them back together, if that was even possible. But, his hands wouldn't respond.

Arms falling limply to his side, he bowed his head and began to pray.

_Zaros, what have I done?_

***

Finley barreled across Nardah’s town square, the rush from just two-finger saluting Zaros’ Pontifex Maximus and the iron bite of blood on her lips fueling her.

She pushed through a couple admiring the fountain, sidestepped around a random desert goat roaming the streets, and nearly jumped over that odd man with the midriff that always seemed to linger around Wahisietel’s - well, Ali’s - house.

“Wah-ALI! ALI! Are you there?!?” she yawped, throwing open his front door. She skidded to a halt once she saw… _everything_ …and slammed the door behind her, lest any nosy neighbors come knocking and see.

It was a mess.

Books lay scattered, thrown from their overturned shelves.

The desk, usually so well organized, was flung to the side, random papers littering the floor.

The air smelt of raw, directionless magic, and it stung Finley’s eyes just as the loose dust did.

Wahisietel lay prone in the center of the main room, barely moving.

“Wahisietel!”

She rolled him over onto his back and sat him upright, despite his groan of protest.

_At least he’s still alive,_ she thought. _At least Azzanadra, that bastard, didn’t kill him._

Blood dropped onto his tunic, and Finley panicked, remembering her nose. She probed around the bridge of her nose - it was very much broken, she found.

Her wounds would have to wait. Tearing a bit of cloth from the bindings around her arm stump, she wiped her face clean and plugged her nostrils before returning to Wahisietel.

Supporting him with her arm-stump, she moved her hand to his face and carefully began examining the massive wound there.

Though it looked almost like the burn scars some of her former shield-siblings back in Rellekka sported, the already-patched injury to Wahisietel’s face ran far deeper, exposing cracked bone and torn tendon, melted skin criss-crossing where it could. Two of his four forehead crystals were simply gone, leaving deep, irregular pits where they once were, and the light in his left eye socket was likewise absent.

His ear was gone, too.

_Blind and deaf on this side._

_Probably._

_His natural healing processes couldn’t handle the amount of magic Azzy pumped through his face, poor thing._

_Aye…wait. ‘Azzy?’_

_Azzanadra._

_Right._

_I need to help…but how?_

She glanced around the room, finally settling on the only unruined part of the entire house.

_Get him onto the bed._

_Aye._

Being careful not to jostle him too much, she lifted him onto her shoulder, finding it hard to tear her eyes away from his face.

_Shame. He was always the better looking of the two…even though his markings are crooked and his skin is paler than bleached papyrus._

_…_

_Where is this even coming from? I’ve never…_

_Nevermind that. I need to get him on the bed and treat his wounds. That’s what’s important, now._

_Aye._

Finally, she managed to negotiate him onto the bed, propping him up as best she could with the single pillow and a wad of blankets. That done, she rifled through the medical supplies Wahisietel kept behind the bookcase, hoping to find something - anything - that would work on a Mahjarrat.

Nothing.

Nothing but human, and some animal, medicines.

Shrugging, she chose a tub of burn salve from the bottom of the box - it might not do any tangible good, but at least it was something. A gesture. An attempt to further convey her gratitude for all the times he had lent a hand and pulled her back from death’s door. Or Death’s door. Either one.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she, with some difficulty, managed to negotiate the tub open and began to dab salve on the edges his wound.

_This is not going to work._

_But I have to do something._

_Then why don’t I do something that will actually work?_

_What can I do, though?_

It was odd, but she swore she heard a slight, familiar chuckle in the back of her mind.

_You? Not much. Me, on the other hand…_

Pins and needles halted her arm, hand hovering over the open tub of salve.

I _can help. So, just sit yourself back and let_ me _do the work._

_What?!?_

“N…no! _Wait-”_

Her eyes slammed shut and her mouth knit itself closed before she could say anything else.

There was silence. Blackness. A quick sensation of weightlessness.

And then, Finley was on the floor halfway across the room, prone, nose bleeding freely again.

She rolled over and looked up - Wahisietel stood by the edge of the bed, very much awake.

Flakes of loose skin still hung from the mangled side of his face, rimmed with patches of salve and smears of what she guessed was her own blood.

His eyes - his good eye, at least - were wide and wild, likely last seen on a caged predator just let loose.

_He was afraid._

“Wa…Wahisietel,” she stammered, slowly making her way back to her feet. “What…what’s wrong?”

His eye following her motion answered her question.

“What happened?” she asked, edging forward, hand up. “What did I do?”

Teeth flashed, a claw swiping the air in front of her.

“GET BACK! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

She scrambled back out of reach, trembling.

“Gods, tell me what happened!”

“Get back…don’t come any closer!” Almost curling in on himself, he began to mutter under his breath, eyes down. “Why are _you_ here…not supposed to be here…supposed to be gone…”

“Wahisietel!” She tried to catch his attention with a wave of her hand. “What in the bloody hell are you yammering about?!?”

Suddenly, it was as if a switch had been thrown. Wahisietel glanced up at Finley and, in a matter of seconds, had straightened his posture and was no longer snarling.

His face still hung part-way off his skull, however, and the shaking in his hands and shoulders ruined the illusion of total composure.

“Nothing,” he said far too quickly. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Aye right that was _nothing!”_

“Finley,” he sighed, voice still quavering. “For your sake, just leave me alone.”

Stemming the fresh flow of blood from her nose with another wad of cloth, she shook her head.

“No. You sit down and shut your trap. We can fix this, aye?”

“How?”

“As If I know right off the top of my head after seeing Azzanadra…” Realization struck her like a smith’s hammer. “Oh gods…I told you to talk to Azzanadra in the first place and then sassed the bastard when we got there! This is all _my_ fault…”

Wahisietel snorted, eye rolling.

“Oh, is it? I was the one who lost control and conducted himself like some slighted child!” His voice rose again, just as it had back in the temple, rattling the teacups they had used just half an hour prior. “I was the one who forced a friend’s hand and got half his face disintegrated! I was the one who left you alone in that blasted temple with a murderous Azzanadra!”

“Oi!” She stepped forward, undaunted, her own voice rising to match. “I don’t blame you for that! You had half your face hanging off your skull! Do you honestly think I’d expect you to waste time hauling me out of there as well and then get pissy when you didn’t?”

He didn’t answer her beyond a slight shake of his head.

Sighing, she wiped her brow free of dust and blood, wishing the two of them could just pull out a bottle of whiskey and drink through the turmoil like they always had.

_Well, I doubt Wahisietel would want to get skin flakes in his whiskey…_

_Aye, or my blood._

“Look,” she began, panic and self-blame giving way to some relative calm. “I understand - you had to do what you did, and I forgive you for that-”

“No.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t forgive me if I was anyone else. Least of all if I was Sliske.”

“But you’re not anyone else. You’re _not_ Sliske!”

He looked at her, hard, some indecipherable expression twisting the half of his face that could still twist.

“You’re _not_ Sliske,” she repeated, stepping forward. He flinched, lips curling back over serrated teeth as she approached, yet she, still undaunted, placed her hand on his shoulder. “You’re Wahisietel. You’re my friend, and-”

She froze, words dying.

It rattled the bones of her arm - she could just barely hear it, yet it reverberated terribly in her chest.

A growl, same as the one Wahisietel had threatened Azzanadra with back in the temple.

Same as the one that had preceded their fight.

_“Please…”_

“Wha-”

“Please, back away, _World Guardian.”_ Half snarl, half whimper, his voice forced her back several steps until she was almost out the door. “I understand your concerns. But I need to be alone.”

She shivered, backing into the doorway, and still feeling that terrible growl in her chest.

“Aye. I’ll…” Wahisietel peered back at her from the now-shadowed corner of the room, eye still hurting and feral - the sight bit at her, forcing her further out the door. “I’ll go.”

And she did.

Turning, she ran several steps out the door before letting loose a teleport spell that would carry her as far from the desert as she could manage.

***

He waited until the last traces of teleport magic disappeared from beyond the doorway, until he was alone again.

Then, he vaulted across the room, over his upturned desk, and slammed the front door shut, curling up against the wood and sinking to the floor, still shivering.

_That was close._

_Too close._

_Almost told her._

_Does she know, now?_

_She has to._

_He took control of her. While she was awake._

_He…_

Tearing his scarf from around his neck, he dabbed at the shattered side of his face - the fabric came away wet with salve and blood.

_He did…that. Blood magic doesn’t work that way…he knows that._

The scarf in his hands blurred, his vision now flat and out of focus.

_Blind in one eye._

_Deaf on one side._

_Can’t heal._

_My human shape won’t cover this up._

_I’ll have to relocate. Again._

_Again…_

_Azzanadra did this to me._

_He did this to me._

_He did this._

_I can’t go back._

_I can’t go back to him. Or to Zaros._

_I can’t stay here either. Not with Sliske still…alive._

_Damn them._

_DAMN THEM ALL TO THE VOID._

He hurled his scarf across the room with a howl.

A howl half-muffled.

_I hate this…_

He curled up tighter and watched the spot of sun that shone through the still-unpatched hole in the wall creep across the floor.


End file.
